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Wednesday, February 29, 2012

I know I am always writing about poop. Whether it's poop in the pants, a poop smelling house, poop on the floor or poop on my stoop...I could go on forever and relate just about everything in my life, since becoming a mother, to poop. I can not escape, matter of fact, yesterday I opened the dryer door and out popped a mummified piece of poop (my son hid is poop pants in the towel wash).

So when I get released from my cage into the world, the last thing I want to see is poop. But I can not escape it. Not even on a leisurely stroll through my hood because it seems the trees have started pooping.

I know its a crappy photo (literally) but if you look closely you can see all the brown logs lying under the tree. Maybe the tree poops, who knows, its Amsterdam. But more than likely its some lazy dog owner letting their dog poop in this small square of nature in my nice neighborhood. And I suspect its the same dog because the logs are all the same size. Sick, I know.

Nothing angers me more than this lack of respect for the beautiful old city and fellow neighbors. Of course there are fines here, but who is gonna enforce them. I know I have said it before, but seriously, what would people do if I start letting my kids poop under every tree in the neighborhood? Maybe I should try it one time...the neighbor just freaked when my son simply peed in the front bushes (he couldn't make it inside). Better yet I should stalk all the medium-large size dog owners for their address and leave poopy diapers on their door steps...or under the trees in front of their house...I know, I have lost it...must be all the methane fumes!

Friday, February 24, 2012

I am one weak mama. I learned this about myself last week when my daughter had minor eye surgery. Nothing serious but she had to be put under anesthesia.

So in the operating room, I was Super mama, I sat there holding my baby in my arms while they induced sleep. I held myself together while waiting for her to go into the recovery. And then it went very wrong!

Church in Haarlem, a village just outside Amsterdam

I was finally called into the recovery room. I walked into the room and immediately saw my sweet baby girl so tiny in the huge hospital bed with an oxygen mask covering most of her face. I choked back the tears as the nurse led me to her side and sat me in a chair. I had to be strong for her. I sat there holding her limp hand until she woke up. I was Ok, I thought, I could do this, it was almost over.

After what seemed like hours, she finally woke up. She wasn't scared, crying or anything dramatic. She was actually perfectly fine, like nothing happened. Fine, until she sat up and volcanic eruptions of blood and other body fluids began to spew from her right nostril.

Anyone who knows me well knows that one drop of blood and I'm faint. A geyser shooting from my daughter's nose soaking the white hospital sheets and I am a disaster.

I desperately scanned the room for a nurse, a doctor, a plug...anyone or anything that could help me at the single most horrible bloody moment of my life. All I could see was the other mothers in the room with their children, standing there, strong, stoic, perfect. Like Mommy-of-the-Year statues. I couldn't lose it...not now. Not only did I have an audience, but I had a two year old, who, in my paranoid-Mommy-mind was bleeding to death from her nose.

My daughter jumped on my lap and blood gushed once more, spewing across the floor. The room began to spin. I began to see spots. My heart was beating out of my chest and I was drenched in sweat.

The nurse finally came back into the room. I faked a smile and just nodded when she said the bleeding was normal for this type of procedure. At least that was what I thought she said. It was hard to hear her down the black hole I was falling in...

She left us immediately.What a relief I thought. I couldn't let her see me like this. I was a mother and mother's were strong in these situations. But I knew one more gusher and Nurse would be scraping me up from the floor. Me, face-down and a failure in the single most important duty as a mother.

Thank goodness my daughter was fine and the blood bath didn't bother her a bit. I turned her around and looked at her face. BIG MISTAKE. Her entire face was smeared with blood and bloody goop and I could only see the whites of her eye balls.

Spinning, spinning, I was going down. I tossed my daughter up on the bed and I did the unthinkable: I climbed in the bed beside her. Through my tunnel vision I could see the strong mommies across the room gasp, probably in disgust. I had no shame at this point. I had to do whatever it took to stay strong, well actually awake for my daughter in this time of need .

Just at that moment, the nurse came back in with a popsicle for my daughter. Yes, that was exactly what I needed. As soon as she walked away I began to nibble on my daughter's popsicle. Of course mamma's sweet girl decided not to share at this particular moment and telling me off loudly. I begged her for just one lick. Just one lick so mommy can stop the merry-go-round in her head.

I got no where with begging so I stooped even lower. "Just let mommy have one little lick-y and mommy will give you some chocolate later." "No," she yelled in her high pitched voice. The Strong mommies began to attack with their judging stares. I didn't care, I had to stay conscious. I grabbed it and bit off what was left. This wasn't about pride anymore, this was survival.

My world stopped swirling and I was able to get back into my assigned chair. The Strong mommies no longer stared and my daughter was none the wiser that her mommy was one blood squirt away from becoming the shame of the Recovery...I had held it together this time, but what if it was something really bad, like a broken bone or a fall that required stitches?

Friday, February 17, 2012

I am a tired mother. I think its just implied if you are a mother, you go through most days with some degree of tiredness or just plain lack of energy. But I thought I was doing OK lately, not feeling as tired and somewhat refreshed in the mornings. But I learned recently I was so, so wrong. I am still Brain-Dead-Mommy tired. Just when I thought I was climbing out of the dark cave of sleep deprived mania, I was wrong.

I never thought the simplest task of just putting on deoderant would reveal such a truth. First of all, I am always impressed when I can even remember to put on deoderant. To others, I probably smell like a fresh bouquet of spring onions. But I don't have time to smell myself or I am too busy smelling poop and pee all day to even notice.

So when I finally had the energy to remember to put on deodorant, the bottle was empty. God only knows how long the bottle had been empty or when I even bought it. The label was in English so I'm guessing I brought it on my last trip to the States last summer. OK, now I am a little embarrassed.

Anyway, off to the supermarket I went and hit the jackpot: 3 for 2 deoderant deal. A year's supply (as long as I don't go wild and wear it everyday)!

A miracle occurred: the very next day after my shower, I remembered to put on my newly purchased deodorant. I grabbed the big pink bottle and I sprayed proudly away.

What a surprise! As soon as it hit my skin, it started to fill my armpit with a creamy foam. Not to mention drip all over the bedroom floor forming white blobby mounds. It wasnt deodorant, it was ladys shaving cream. Wow, my armpits were in shock! I barely have time to swipe the razor over them much less use shaving cream!

I read the bottle...sure enough, it was shaving cream. I bought 3 cans of shaving cream! I just stood there in tears, brain dead. Typical, I thought. That was what I got for trying to be a little human.

So, I had sticky arm pits and no deoderant. I looked at the shower, but I just couldn't do it. After all the excitement, I was too tired to get back into the shower and wash-off the shaving cream. I grabbed a diaper wippee and walked around the rest of the day with one baby-fresh pit and the other creamy onion.

In hindsight, the label Satin Care and Gel should have tipped me off. And what was I going to do with 3 bonus size bottles of ladies shaving cream? I am shamed into shaving for the next year....Ahhhh...I am tired just thinking about it!

Friday, February 10, 2012

If this is the future, I need to put my kids on a strict diet! A few months ago I noticed these electricity charging outlets being installed in several places in our neighborhood. I thought they must be for Scooters or some type of motorcycle. I guess I'm revealing my Going Green ignorance, but I never expected them to be for charging Smart cars.

I assume these cars have lower energy costs, blah, blah. But only the single people and childless couples (who have lots of money anyway because they don't have extra mouths to feed and Butts to diaper) can use these money/energy savers for their transportation. If my family crawled out of this car, we would look like a cheap circus act trying to get in and out. And imagine trying to get all the kids paraphernalia in this thing. The diaper bag wouldn't even fit! I would then have to tape the duct diapers, wipees and toys to the roof of the car.

No thank you! I will keep my gas guzzling soccer-mom-mobile and continue to be broke as hell at the end of the month. Or they can add a Smart covered trailer to hook on the back to pull the kids in and call it the Smart Family deluxe! Then I will plug in!

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

That's it! I have had it! Starting tomorrow I will put my kids on a leash and walk them from house to house to poop on my neighbor's doorsteps.

For two days in a row, one of my dog owner neighbors (or maybe just a neighbor because it does look rather human) let their dog poop on my doorstep and didn't clean it up.

It's not like I don't have enough poop of my own (well not only my own but my son's, my daughter's and my cat's) to clean up all day, everyday, someone is constantly producing waste in my house. They probably smelled the sewer-dirty diaper funk that surrounds my house and thought "Oh well, what's a few more logs." I just hope next time they ring the bell so I can run down and scoop it up fresh.